


i wanna be your backdoor man

by thimble



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fight Club Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of adrenaline-charged teenage boys and a whole lot of organized fistfights, courtesy of one Imayoshi Shoichi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. meet the fighters

**Author's Note:**

> based on this conversation from tumblr ([1](http://midorimashintarous.tumblr.com/post/69349537607/im-sorry-for-flooding-your-inbox-you-are-my-go-to-knb)) ([2](http://midorimashintarous.tumblr.com/post/69350482476/carminezuigibers-replied-to-your-post-the)) ([3](http://midorimashintarous.tumblr.com/post/69351234551/carminezuigibers-replied-to-your-post-kise-bets))

The formation of their little group was simple; some of them got _bored_ in the off-season. It was Imayoshi, being the genius that he was, who found a way to fill the void.

"Who is it today?" He asked Kise, who was sitting with him in his immovable spot in the back of the room. (All the better to see them with.) Kise tipped his head to the side and pretended to think on it, lips pursed in a ridiculous moue.

"I bet on Moriyama-senpai last time, but I don't think he's here tonight, is he?"

Imayoshi had to wonder if Kise genuinely thought he ever fooled anybody with that act, but Imayoshi was hardly going to be the one to tell him. "No, he's not in tonight."

"That's right, he showed up at practice with a Band-Aid on his face." Kise laughed much like he did everything else – bright and showy, putting his whole body into it. The movement shifted some of his blond hair from the confines of the beanie he wore religiously whenever he visited. He couldn't be caught dead sneaking into places like this with his squeaky clean reputation, although he'd be hard pressed to give up the eyeliner. Some things were just constants, Imayoshi supposed. 

He reached over to tuck the hair back under the hat, smiling pleasantly when Kise's ear reddened where Imayoshi's fingers brushed against it. He chatted on like half his face wasn't burning; he was a pro, for what it was worth.

"Izuki-san's up next, yeah? Let's go with him. I like his style."

"Mm, me too, although he ends his match-ups in under a minute. It's not very entertaining." Seirin's point guard was one of the last people Imayoshi expected to show up, but it did make some sense - well-timed puns were hardly an outlet, and there was a silent tenacity about him that was nothing short of admirable.

Moriyama, on the other hand, had a tendency to drag things out through no fault of his own. He was dizzying to keep track of, and at first glance it seemed like he threw too many punches, none of which would hit their target. In reality he was just quick to pull them back, knocking his opponents on their asses when they did connect. His touch was feather-light and relied on chance, and it was the complete opposite of Takao who fought like he played; forceful, playful, and precise. He used headbands or clips to keep his bangs from his eyes and a friendly grin to disarm his enemies, though they were hardly the only things in his arsenal. 

(It should be considered cheating to use the Hawk Eye, but Imayoshi wanted to enforce as few rules as possible. He wasn't anyone's babysitter, thank you very much.)

They rarely fought in teams, but when they did it was in twos. Takao's best partner was Himuro, who was another surprise in terms of appearance and manner, though it was soon explained by his past in the States. He had a face nearly as priceless as Kise's and was often underestimated because of it. Many used to bet against him: a big mistake on their parts, but Imayoshi didn't mind.

He enjoyed the looks on _their_ faces when Himuro flared to life in the ring, fluid as a dancing fire. He was one of the two fighters Imayoshi always made certain to watch, because seeing Himuro shift gracefully from one form to the next never got boring.

The other one was Hanamiya.

(That one spoke for itself.)

"Looks like Izuki-san brought moral support." Kise pointed in the direction of the new arrivals, Kiyoshi Teppei and Hyuuga Junpei. Imayoshi knew as well as anyone who Kiyoshi was really there for, though perhaps the captain did come for his teammate. "I'll go say hello and ask about Kurokocchi."

"Don't get spotted," Imayoshi warned, although sometimes he did wish Kise would get roped into a fight, just so they could find out what he was made of. He wanted to try similar experiments on his freshmen, but Aomine was oddly averse to violence and Sakurai... well, the world wasn't ready for a Sakurai with an unleashed bloodlust. It was for the best.

Izuki's match ended almost as soon as it began, predictably. Up next was Mibuchi Reo, who was making his debut tonight. Rakuzan was the last one to sniff out their existence, hm?

In any case, it would be an interesting scenario. 

 


	2. in the ring

Hyuuga blamed Izuki, for giving Kiyoshi an excuse to visit; he blamed Kiyoshi for being too forgiving and too caught up in infatuation, who knows what he even saw in that asshole; lastly he blamed himself, for allowing them to rope him into it in the first place. He didn’t know why Riko allowed it to go on, or how any of the other captains and coaches did. It wasn’t a secret, and even if it had been, it wasn’t particularly a well-kept one. He guessed the need to punch someone’s lights out (and unspoken desire to have yours punched out in turn) wasn’t as uncommon as he thought. Not for him, though.

He wasn’t a masochist.

Izuki was done in thirty seconds, maybe less, though his eyes still held some of that ferocity that sparked up in games and only dwindled out post-buzzer (only then did the puns start flowing out as per usual). A poorly disguised Kise Ryota had an arm around him and he didn’t seem to feel a trace of discomfort from it, even when Kise whispered in his ear. Izuki even smiled, and his retort had Kise laughing, and it wasn’t the rehearsed model laugh either. When did that happen?

He glanced around for Kiyoshi but he was out of sight, which was an impressive feat for someone of his size. Like Kuroko was _infectious_ or something. He wiped his glasses on his shirt and was briefly able to spot the top of Kiyoshi’s head, at the back of the room where he could place his bet, when everyone suddenly began talking animatedly and crowding around the fighting space. Hyuuga couldn’t help but look that way too.

As if he hadn’t been surprised enough, there was Mibuchi Reo, stately and lightly smiling. He was a grand presence on court – off it, he took up a permanent residence in Hyuuga’s mind. It should have stopped with the Winter Cup but since then it had only gotten worse. And now he was here.

Someone unimportant signaled the start of the match and Hyuuga’s lungs swelled with the depth of his inhale. Mibuchi, he—

—he fought like the goddamned _devil_.

It felt just it did in middle school, the first time he saw Mibuchi shoot and instantly fell for it, wasting no time in committing the form of it to memory. The acrobatics in his stomach whenever he replayed the shot in his head, the heat of the blood pounding in his veins when he adjusted his body to replicate it whenever he was in front of a hoop; all of it marred by thinking Mibuchi was weak for being the way he was.

Hyuuga felt the urge to go back in time and kick his old self in the throat.

It must have been a better show than Izuki’s, and longer too, for the sake of performance, but Hyuuga didn’t watch it as much as it flashed before his eyes. When Mibuchi won the answering sound was _loud_ , although there must’ve been a few angry exclamations from those who placed their bets on his opponents. Either they weren’t familiar with the basketball circuit or they were just as idiotic as Hyuuga had been. Their loss.

“Congratulations,” he ended up saying to Mibuchi when they bumped into each other, nothing short of a coincidence. Mibuchi was stunned at finding him there and his expression said as much for a fleeting second before he shed the last of the devil.

“If I knew you were here I would’ve showed off a little more, Junpei-chan.” He winked, and his voice had a teasing lilt. “Did you bet on me?”

“No.” _I’m sorry for the way I treated you._ “I didn’t know.” _I want to make it up to you but I don’t know how._ Hyuuga coughed into his fist and relented to the itch at his nape.

“I’ll do it next time.”

He didn’t know how these things worked, or even when he planned to turn up again; just that the way Mibuchi played, fought, and _smiled_ terrified him to the point of mania, and he kind of liked that.

(Maybe this made him a masochist after all.) 

 

* * *

 

The melting point of iron was one thousand five hundred thirty-eight degrees Celsius – the approximate temperature of the stare that was burning into his nape, singing his hair, crawling down his spine. He snarled and rolled his shoulders back to metaphorically shrug it off, barely evading a near-perfectly timed right hook. 

He regained his balance, loosened his joints, and set his feet apart. He beckoned his opponent with a finger, daring him to strike first, but of course that was a trap; when the idiot sprang forward Hanamiya pounced and knocked him to the floor with a head butt.

The fight wasn't declared over until two minutes later, when Hanamiya allowed him breathing room and the poor bastard finally rasped out, "uncle."

Because he was a gentleman, Hanamiya picked up a tooth that had flung itself five feet away, tucking it into the guy's jeans pocket. 

"Here," he said, amicably. "You lost this." Then he left the rest of them to deal with it in search of bigger prey (someone who'd be eighty-one kilograms of pure muscle, according to the latest stats.)

The boiling point of iron was two thousand eight hundred sixty-two Celsius, coincidentally the same as Hanamiya's patience. Kiyoshi's mouth had barely even begun to curve up before Hanamiya launched him against the wall, fingers at his throat.

"I thought I told you to stay the fuck away. You ruined my concentration."

"Hello to you too, Hanamiya-kun." His aborted smile showed itself anyway, unperturbed by Hanamiya's nails digging into his flesh. Nails that still had some other guy's bits and pieces under them. "Sorry, couldn't help it."

Hanamiya bared his teeth but he withdrew his hand, eyeing the toll on his knuckles. Nothing but the skin broken, if he could even call it that. They were bright red, but they were just scrapes, nothing to worry about.

"Let me take a look," Kiyoshi said, his palms dwarfing Hanamiya's when he lifted Hanamiya's fingers, cradled them to inspect the damage, and that - that just _pissed_ him off.

It had been entirely in Kiyoshi's power to completely avoid the fist Hanamiya swung at his face, but he didn't, to cushion said fist from the wall. It hit him on the side, the brunt of it on his ear.

 _Don't fucking touch me_ was ready to drip from Hanamiya's tongue but he couldn't quite let it. Shit, Kiyoshi Teppei was the most infuriating human he's ever met.

Hanamiya inhaled, counted to ten, and exhaled the impulse to pound Kiyoshi to a pulp from his body. (Not tonight.)

"How's your ear."

"Ringing," Kiyoshi said, rubbing it, though his grin spread like a plague across his features. What the fuck. "You fought well today."

It was total bull; Hanamiya had the dirtiest hands in the business, but anyone would've believed Kiyoshi right then with his giant clown smile. There was enough dishonesty to go around.

"Whatever, don't distract me next time." 

"Won't." Kiyoshi's tone was that of an adult placating a small child, which made Hanamiya want to punch him again, but Kiyoshi's mouth was quicker, warm and soft and licking the blood from inside his own.


	3. aftercare

There was a speck of Takao's own blood on Shin-chan's glasses, probably from when he had a mouthful of it just half an hour ago and he _still_ couldn't keep himself from talking.

He wanted to wipe it off, or scratch at it since it looked dry at this point, but Shin-chan was irritable even without him flailing around. Those traitorously expressive eyes were narrowed in disdain, or that's how it would seem to onlookers, if there were any. 

(Disdain and concern were brothers in Shin-chan's mind, and Takao's known him long enough to ever mistake his coldness for a lack of compassion again.

It's the apathy he had to watch out for.)

"Stop twitching, Takao." His tone was hushed but firm as he threaded the needle through the torn skin on Takao's forehead, occasionally stopping to fix the clip that held Takao's hair out of the way. His fingers were bare, and just the sight of them felt intimate, never mind their touch.

"How can I? You've been poking me with the needle."

"I have not." 

Takao grinned, filthy and still tasting metal in his mouth, tasting the white lie. "Yeah, you haven't. You've been real careful."

Shin-chan didn't respond, not visibly, and anyone else would have missed the subtle thinning of his lips. Not Takao.

"Worried about me, Shin-chan?" He tried to smirk but it was hard with the stitching going on, so it came out more like a wince. "You know I always get back up on my feet." 

"I wasn't worried, fool." Shin-chan unwound a bandage from the first aid kit and began to wrap the strip around Takao's head, confident in his meticulousness like he'd been practicing on a dummy just for this very occasion. "Scorpio was ranked number one on Oha Asa today."

"What if I'd gone up against another Scorpio?"

Sometimes he forgot that Shin-chan knew him just as well, that this partnership had never been a one-way street. He remembered it now, spurred by the gaze Shin-chan was leveling him with.

"It wouldn't concern me. You're too stupid to die, even if you got killed."

Takao laughed, even though it strained the fresh stitches. He kind of had it coming.

 

* * *

 

The bruise looked just like gummy candy – grape flavored, maybe a hint of raspberry. Atsushi bent his head to put the theory to the test.

Muro-chin made a faint noise above him when his tongue met skin; then it got higher, bolder, once he used suction. The colors had been deceptive, because it didn't taste sweet at all, although Muro-chin's artless noises came pretty close.

Atsushi exhaled through his nose, surly about being proven wrong. He rested his chin on Muro-chin's hip, watching Muro-chin's belly subconsciously recoil from his palm. Muro-chin wasn't ticklish in the least, and he had a strong tolerance to most things, pain included. He pressed his thumb down on the mark he had been lapping at earlier, subtly increasing the pressure until Muro-chin groaned.

"That hurts, Atsushi." 

"Muro-chin shouldn't have been fighting, then."

"That's neither here nor there." He swatted at Atsushi without really looking, so it was easy to catch his wrist in one hand, to slot his own fingers over the finger-shaped welts there. There was discoloration all over his torso, some bigger and darker than the others; there was even a shallow flesh wound from someone who tried to play dirty. It wasn't anything new. On the late nights Muro-chin limped home from Tokyo, he was a wreck everywhere - except for his face.

There were no split lips or blackened eyes, and there never have been. He bruised faster than a peach yet he never acted like it bothered him, sometimes even leaving the clean up for morning, even if it meant bloodying the sheets. When he tugged Atsushi over himself like a heavy blanket neither of them ever felt like moving - the longest they've gone was thirteen hours of dead-boned sleep in the same position.

Atsushi shifted and pinned Muro-chin's wrist above his head, just because he liked the sight of Muro-chin stretched out below him. Muro-chin didn't oppose it, but when he spoke his tone had a devious ring and Atsushi knew just where this was going.

"Come and watch me tomorrow."

"I don't want to see some guy swinging his fist at Muro-chin. I'll crush him and ruin your game." When Muro-chin opened his mouth to respond Atsushi was quick to seal his free hand over it. "Bribing me with snacks won't work for this, you know."

"Yeah, I guess not." Muro-chin sighed, not unhappily, not after Atsushi began to nibble at his ear. "Not this time."

(Atsushi didn't know how Muro-chin kept his face pristine, nor was he particularly inclined to, as long as it stayed like that. 

Muro-chin had his ways.)


End file.
